Poems, chiefly pastoral By John Cunningham. The second edition. With the Addition of several pastorals and other pieces |
 |
 |
ANACREON. ODE LVIII. Imitated. |
|
|
|
|
 | Poems, chiefly pastoral |  |
100
ANACREON. ODE LVIII. Imitated.
As I wove with wanton care,
Fillets for a virgin's hair,
Culling for my fond design,
What the fields had fresh and fine:
Cupid,—and I mark'd him well,
Hid him in a cowslip bell;
While he plum'd a pointed dart,
Fated to inflame the heart.
Fillets for a virgin's hair,
Culling for my fond design,
What the fields had fresh and fine:
Cupid,—and I mark'd him well,
Hid him in a cowslip bell;
While he plum'd a pointed dart,
Fated to inflame the heart.
Glowing with malicious joy,
Sudden I secur'd the boy;
And, regardless of his cries,
Bore the little frighted prize
Where the mighty goblet stood,
Teeming with a rosy flood.
Sudden I secur'd the boy;
And, regardless of his cries,
Bore the little frighted prize
Where the mighty goblet stood,
Teeming with a rosy flood.
Urchin, in my rage I cry'd,
What avails thy saucy pride?
From thy busy vengeance free,
Triumph now belongs to me!
Thus—I drown thee in my cup;
Thus—in wine I drink thee up.
What avails thy saucy pride?
From thy busy vengeance free,
Triumph now belongs to me!
101
Thus—in wine I drink thee up.
Fatal was the nectar'd draught
That to murder Love I quaff'd,
O'er my bosom's fond domains,
Now the cruel tyrant reigns:
On my heart's most tender strings,
Striking with his wanton wings,
I'm for ever doom'd to prove
All the insolence of love.
That to murder Love I quaff'd,
O'er my bosom's fond domains,
Now the cruel tyrant reigns:
On my heart's most tender strings,
Striking with his wanton wings,
I'm for ever doom'd to prove
All the insolence of love.
| Poems, chiefly pastoral | |